TCOT Comfortable Couch
by likes-it-bubbly
Summary: So there's that couch in Perry Mason's office. Looks quite roomy and comfortable, doesn't it? Well, Perry certainly thinks so and Della, too. And their friends and colleagues are quite intrigued with it also. If only that couch could talk. The stories it would leak to Spicy Bits, all those private moments...
1. Chapter 1 - Holly Cosgrove

**Author's note: **_Although I just published a ficlet to honor Barbara Hale's birthday, I haven't really been around for ages. And I missed this place, missed the fun I always had enjoying (and writing) some D/P romance. I'm not sure I can say I'm back, but I have found a way to make time for our favorite couple again. This is my first attempt at writing about them after a two year absence. I still feel a little rusty. I mean, I haven't really been writing fiction in all that time, but at least ideas are flowing again and that's a good thing. So please bare with me. "TCOT Comfortable Couch" is not one of my usual stories, but rather a collection of moments and impressions other characters have of Della and Perry. And then there's them, of course. Please also know that this story is finished. If I've learned one thing from my still unfinished "Without You", it's never to start posting a story that's not completely done. It will "haunt" you for years if there's no time to wrap it up. Which doesn't mean I'm giving up on it. Call me stubborn, but I have set my mind to finishing it somehow, someday. Until then, I hope you'll enjoy this one instead! :)_

**Disclaimer:** _TV show timeline. Completely Della-Perry, also through other characters' eyes. Character cameos: Paul Drake, Mae Kirby, Lieutenant Tragg, Hamilton Burger, Gertrude Lade, Carl Jackson, Holly Cosgrove and Frank Faulkner._

* * *

**The Case of the Comfortable Couch**

Holly Cosgrove unlocked the door to her favorite office: Perry Mason, attorney-at-law on the 9th floor of the Brent building. She liked the air of laid-back formality it oozed, the aroma of mental labor paired with joy, the odor of chocolate in the reception area, perfume in the walk-through office occupied by Miss Street and aftershave in Mr. Mason's adjoining room. She enjoyed the welcoming atmosphere, the flowers and artwork displayed in each room saying so much about the attorney and his head of office. Having met Mr. Mason on occasion, Holly Cosgrove had always enjoyed engaging in a friendly chat about his furnishings or talking to Miss Street about the latest rearrangements in her welcoming office. She also enjoyed their sense of order and cleanliness, their respect and decency towards her, the cleaning lady. No matter how late she had found them working behind their desks, they never left their coffee mugs unattended for her to swill them, nor did they ever expect her to clear up the mess they occasionally made while working on a particularly numbing case. Miss Street, with all her poise and expertise, never shied away from doing the dishes and always left the office neat enough for her to give it a proper cleaning. Holly Cosgrove appreciated that level of consideration, after all, most of the other occupants in the building didn't even bother to acknowledge her, say hello or care to know her name when she arrived to go about her job. Mr. Brent himself was a rare exception and so was Paul Drake, the dashing detective frequently employed by Mr. Perry Mason. Entering the reception area now was like a well-rehearsed episode of her radio favorites: a welcoming distraction from her pleasant but uneventful life.

"Mrs. Cosgrove, is that you," Della Street's voice chirped from inside Perry Mason's private office. Her hair looked tousled from a distance, her face pretty as usual but slightly crumpled.

"Now honestly, Miss Street,"Holly Cosgrove sighed as the legal secretary met her halfway in her own office with a hearty smile."What are you doing here at this hour? It's past midnight."

"You have every right to scold me, Mrs. Cosgrove." Della grabbed her purse and fetched a briefcase from behind her desk. "Mr. Mason told me to go home a long time ago, I just thought I would get our inventory done tonight. Turns out I forgot the time. But I'll be out of your hair now in a jiffy, don't you worry."

"Is Mr. Mason not in with you?" Holly Cosgrove narrowed her eyes out of concern for the young woman who so obviously needed some rest after a long day at work.

"Mr. Mason is running some errands. He would scold me, too, if he still found me here, so I better go." The secretary rushed back into her boss' office, briefcase in hand, to collect some files and take them with her.

"How are you going to get home now, Miss Street? It's no time for a lady to hail a taxi. Some shady characters are out there making their rounds at this time of night." Mrs. Cosgrove shook her head. "Just take your time collecting your things while I polish everything to perfection and then we'll go together. What do you think?" Her smile was gently persistent. "I couldn't look Mr. Mason in the eye if anything happened to you, if you didn't get home all right."

"This is not the first time I've gone home after hours," Della tried to argue. "There's really no need for you to drive me, Mrs. Cosgrove." As the back door clunked shut, the secretary jumped.

"Oh yes, there is," Perry Mason's voice growled, his face serious, his eyes gentle. "Mrs. Cosgrove doesn't have to inconvenience herself however. It's my job to take you home at this hour, Miss Street." The attorney did not tolerate any protest from the two women standing in front of him. "But your offer is much appreciated, Mrs. Cosgrove. When given the opportunity, please remind me to reciprocate."

Holly Cosgrove nodded and quietly excused herself, suddenly overcome by the feeling of being in the way. The way the broad-shouldered man looked at his employee, the way they talked without using words, the intimacy of their smile - Mrs. Cosgrove couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something in the air other than the expected familiarity between a lawyer and his confidential secretary.

As Mrs. Cosgrove turned to leave, she noticed a novelty in the attorneys office, a large couch perfectly fitting into the corner between the plant that hid the entrance to his private back-room and the door leading to the outer office. Lying on the couch was a coat neatly folded to a pillow. Underneath it – and hidden to a layman's eye – traces of red lipstick. Holly Cosgrove paused. The folded coat, Miss Street's tousled hair, the lines on her face – it all made sense. But how did lipstick get on the fabric of Mr. Mason's brand-new couch? Miss Street certainly wasn't the careless type. Given the delicate color of the piece of furniture, the young woman wouldn't just rest her head on it without protection. Then for the glimpse of a second an unseemly thought crossed Mrs. Cossgrove's mind. No, she shook her head. Not Mr. Mason and Miss Street. They would never engage in misconduct, of that Holly Cosgrove was convinced, especially not at the office. Or would they the respectable lawyer and his reputable secretary? No, Mrs. Cosgrove decided. Miss Street would not allow to be taken advantage of like this. She was a classy lady who demanded respect. Although, Holly Cosgrove quietly admitted to herself, Mr. Mason sure knew how to win his cases, so who could blame Miss Street for caving in?

* * *

"I am telling you, Della, getting that couch was a mistake," Perry Mason remarked from inside his office bathroom, frustrated from fighting with his bow tie. "You're making a habit out of sleeping on it. I think I will have to return it."

"You can't," Della Street's voice sounded casually sweet, matching the nonchalance of her posture as she leaned against the door frame, smiling dreamily to herself. "I marked it with my lipstick the first night you demonstrated it's amenities to me. I'm sorry to say it's yours for the keeping."

"Did Mrs. Cosgrove ever ask you how that happened," the attorney pricked his ears.

"No, not explicitly." Absentminded, Della drew lines on the door with her fingers, marking it with illegible thoughts and letters, then chuckled like a schoolgirl. "But she did ask me how I was coping with the frequency of your female encounters."

"She must've confused me with Paul." Perry grinned, then grumbled, releasing a dissatisfied moan, "Oh, for crying out loud, Della!"

"What's eating you," his secretary jumped and pushed the bathroom door open. Behind it, Perry Mason stood in front of the mirror, his eyes darkened but clearing up the moment they met hers. Wiggling herself between the sink and his tuxedo-clad body, Della gave him a sensuous smile. "Let me fix this," she offered and tied a perfect knot for him with elegant fingers. "There, satisfied," she almost whispered, her hand resting on his chest now, a kiss tingling in the air.

"Only if you finally show me the dress you've been hiding from me all day," he teased her, the volume of his voice as low as hers, vibrating against her hand still glued to his chest. "I'm sure you'll look radiant in it."

"Save your compliments, counselor. I haven't even started fixing myself up yet." Della blinked her eyes and forced herself to pull away, then gently shoved him out of the tiny bathroom. "Out you go or I'll never be done in time."

"Can I have a peek," Perry Mason begged with a smile tender around the lips but with an ardent gleam in his eyes.

"Don't you dare," Della Street admonished him from inside, playful yet determined. "But you could get the garment bag from your closet and hand it to me if you were so kind."

"Why so formal, Miss Street," Perry laughed as he opened the doors to his crammed office closet.

"I'm just trying to behave accordingly, we are going to attend quite a formal dinner tonight, aren't we?"

"That depends on how long it will take me to pick the right garment bag for you without peeking," the attorney gasped. "How many of your backup clothes did I agree to harbor in my closet anyway? I cannot find a thing!"

"I just picked up a suit or two from the cleaners," Della admitted quietly. "And two day dresses." Opening the bathroom door in time to stifle a follow-up question, she continued with an innocent smile Perry had often seen her practice with smartmouth policemen or clients, "With the hours we keep, I need to be prepared for anything you have up your sleeve. Only last week we dashed off to Nevada without having much time to pack, don't you remember? You can't always buy new clothes for me like you did then. Not that I didn't like the dresses you picked but I'm your secretary, not a kept woman, nor do I wish to be."

Perry sighed. "So what you're telling me is that you need your own closet space for emergencies."

"More closet space in general," the secretary agreed. "After all, we have a couch now. It would be useful to stash up on pillows and blankets." Della batted her eyelashes. "And on bathroom supplies, you know, soaps, shampoo, towels, hair dryer..."

"A second toothbrush," Perry added.

"That I already have," Della Street said proudly.

"Of course you do," Perry Mason shook his head and reached out his hand. Pulling her close to him, he tilted her chin up with his finger, then looked deep into her sparkling eyes. Standing still for endless seconds, he finally whispered, "You have the master keys to the office, spare keys to my apartment, decided on the couch, you are driving my car and occupy a drawer in my desk while I have none in yours, now you are taking over my hideaway bathroom and emergency closet. I really wonder, Miss Street, who's the boss?"


	2. Chapter 2 - Carl Jackson

Carl Jackson didn't remember the precise day Perry Mason had welcomed him to the practice, but he knew exactly when Della Street had first graced him with a friendly smile. As a solicitor, his work was less strenuous than Mr. Mason's and a lot less exciting. In the beginning, Jackson had felt that was the reason why the secretary never gave him the same kind of attention, never worked with him directly but rather served as her employer's shadow. It had taken him some time to understand that Miss Street was not a legal secretary, not employed to serve the practice but to run it instead. She was Mr. Mason's girl Friday, his confidante and head of office - Perry Mason's name on the door, but Della Street's signature on everything else.

Admittedly, her involvement in Mr. Mason's work often irritated Jackson. He was much more comfortable around Gertrude Lade, the pleasantly naive receptionist who did not aspire to be more than she was and knew her place. She would never give him a warm smile and get impatient with him at the same time. Not that Miss Street had ever been cross with him, but he expected her to have it in her, the severity of an assertive lady. He had heard her share a laugh with Perry Mason, many times to be exact, but never with him. Her demeanor impeccable whenever he entered the office to discuss a case, her body covered in clothes subtle enough to tease an intellectual. Behind her desk or Mr. Mason's, Miss Street was always professional and genuinely kind, a skilled secretary who knew her trade but put him, the junior attorney, in his place at the same time. She was never abrasive but studious in her ambition to be the best secretary Perry Mason could have, so studious in fact that Carl Jackson did not find his footing in a practice that would make his vita look interesting but did not help him get ahead. With her quick-witted remarks and feminine insights, Della Street often hit the nail on the head of a case Jackson was completely left out of the loop on. With her natural talent to charm the police and handle difficult clients, she also had Perry Mason's back in a way not even Paul Drake could compete with. With all of these talents, her attitude and looks, Jackson felt inhibited around her - even more inhibited than he generally was around members of the fairer sex. It was accurate to say she intimidated him with her work ethic, that mix of dedication and delight for all the jobs she had mastered over the years. Her independence only added to his irritation, the air of confidence she oozed, her lack of doubt about her future in Perry Mason's practice. She was the reason he always knocked before entering Mr. Mason's private office, even when his boss had asked him to produce important information to crack a case. Not that Miss Street's attitude ever suggested she would scold him for interrupting her work with their employer, but Jackson didn't want to risk his job on an avoidable error. After all, one thing he knew for certain, if it was his word against Della Street's, there was no doubt who Mr. Mason would side with no matter how bulletproof the evidence.

When the door to Mr. Mason's office was half open though on a quiet day at the office, Carl Jackson didn't think to announce his arrival and walked right into a scene he couldn't quite place. On the couch sat Perry Mason, smiling to himself while a preoccupied Della Street was crawling on the floor, looking for an earring, a pencil or something else she had apparently lost. Stumbling backwards, Jackson took flight before his boss or his secretary could get wind of his unwelcome intrusion. And an intrusion it was or at least felt like for him, the inadvertent observer of something that was probably rather innocent. After all, Miss Street was a respectable woman. Jackson couldn't see her engaged in an improper relationship with her employer. She had too much class, too much sense to commit herself to a secret relationship. And secret it would have to be. There was simply no way Perry Mason would marry his secretary. The idea alone was preposterous to Jackson, just as grotesque as the gossip often printed in papers, the thought of Mr. Mason courting Miss Street. If they got married, how would he ever be able to replace her at the office?

* * *

"It has to be around here somewhere," Della moaned from below his desk. "The pendant is so big, it couldn't just have vanished."

Crawling on her knees and hands, Della turned around quickly enough to catch Perry Mason admiring her curves from the nearby couch. "Are you enjoying the view?" She shook her head as he caressed her form with his eyes. "Sometimes I miss the days when nothing could distract you from a case."

"We're not working on a case right now," Perry grinned.

"Well, I am: The Case of the Missing Pendant," Della ignored the tapping of his hand, inviting her to come sit with him on the couch. "Perry, please. You know how much I love that necklace."

"All right, I'm looking," he faked a sigh and produced her golden initials before she could even blink. "Here it is, buried in the cracks."

"How did it get there, I wonder," Della pursed her lips.

"I have a theory," Perry Mason held out his hand and pulled her towards him. "I'll demonstrate it to you if you want."

"Aren't you expecting Jackson any minute now," Della lowered herself onto his lap, her pencil skirt reaching up over her knees without exposing her thighs or the intimate garments she wore underneath. "The poor man is shy enough already around me, finding us necking on the couch would sure give him a heart attack."

"Jackson is smart," Perry whispered against her neck while he tried to keep his hands steady on her waist and hips. "He will have figured it out by now, our little arrangement."

"Arrangement," Della chuckled. "Is that what we call it these days?"

"I don't know what else to call it," Perry teased her skin with his, then grazed his lips against the sculptured beauty of her face. "All the words I can think of sound wrong to me, Del."

"Then why label it at all," Della brushed her fingers against his chin to tilt it up, then sought his lips for a tender kiss. Now that was an argument Perry Mason had a hard time refuting.

"I love you," Perry Mason thought but didn't utter. It was not the right place, nor the right time to tell her she was more than what people would reduce them to if they knew: an affair, a fling, a romance. An amour, a flirtation, a liaison. A scandal or cliché, a hanky-panky at the office. No, there wasn't a word to describe what she meant to him, and for a man who made a living bending words and expressions, that was quite an admission.


	3. Chapter 3 - Gertrude Lade

Gertrude Lade rested her purse on her desk at Perry Mason's office. As usual, she was running a little late. Not awfully late, Gertie tried to trick herself into believing, but late within an acceptable margin. Five minutes tops, sometimes ten. So far, her bosses had never complained. She was lucky that way, Gertie knew that for a fact. Lucky to have met Della Street all those years ago in a temporary employment agency, a place they both had equally loathed. For years, Gertie had arranged herself with cranky heads of office, workplace gossip, delayed paychecks, office wolves and work-pool desks. Until Della had called one day to offer her a job as Perry Mason's receptionist. Little had she known about the changes that offer would bring into her life, how exciting work could be and how comfortable it was to have a salary with benefits. Although Gertrude Lade would never understand why Della was working like the proverbial bee to please their gentle boss, she admired her poise. Working nights and the occasional weekend, no, Gertie shook her head. She couldn't do it, could never keep up with the pace her bosses were dictating. And bosses they were. "Perry Mason's name on the door, Della Street's on everything else," Jackson had once said to her over a friendly cup of coffee.

"How true that was, he had no idea," Gertie thought. Working with Della for many years, the receptionist had learned one thing: Miss Street was a devoted secretary, always organized, reliable and strictly business. Although she was warm-hearted by nature and took a quick liking to people from all backgrounds and ages, she did not easily fall in love. Truth be told, Gertie knew of only one man Della Street had ever given her heart to without demands and that man, unfortunately, was Perry Mason. No matter how hard Della tried to cover her doting smiles, Gertie knew her colleague was heads over heels in love with their boss. A love not completely unrequited but not expressed either. A love lost somewhere in-between files and cases, and clients interrupting what Gertie knew could be a perfect romance.

When Gertrude Lade now arrived at the office, she went about her morning routine as usual. She checked the notes left for her by the nightly answering service, arranged the mail for Della to sift through, sorted her romance magazines and retouched her lipstick. When she was done with her first round of errands, she swayed towards the kitchen and brewed coffee for her bosses. Pouring herself a cup moments later, she returned to her desk, picked up the stack of mail and placed it in Della's office. The secretary's desk was cleared, no notepad and pencil, no mugs that suggested Miss Street and Mr. Mason had been working late. Through the open door, however, Gertie heard the sound of running water coming from Mr. Mason's office. At 9am that could only mean the attorney had pulled an all-nighter and was now freshening up in his private bathroom. No footsteps, no dictation, no laughter – nothing there to suggest he wasn't alone. But curiosity had always killed the cat in Gertrude Lade and that morning was no different. So she sneaked a peek through the door in Perry Mason's private office and found his secretary asleep on the couch, blissfully wrapped in her employer's coat. Her face looked peaceful in her slumber, her contented smile bearing a secret Gertie was not completely sure she wished to uncover. Then suddenly, the water stopped and unannounced, Perry Mason emerged from his hidden bathroom. Towel in hand, he removed the last traces of shaving foam from his chin and stood at the end the couch to observe his secretary in her sleep. With his shirt half unbuttoned and his tie hanging lose around his neck, he looked a lot less intimidating than he sometimes did when he was buried in a case. His eyes glistened, his expression was calm, unreadable somehow. When he suddenly knelt down, he inched closer to the couch to close the gap between himself and the woman lying before him, his coat hugging her in her sleep rather than merely warming her body. Reaching out his hand to touch her cheeks, his mouth broke into a gentle smile that matched the tenderness he exhibited in caressing her skin and Gertie understood why Della had lost her heart to him. Crouching by his secretary's side, the tall man looked so vulnerable as he revered her beauty and invincible at the same time. His large frame seemed to offer her protection while his hands were only seeking her affection. Gertie gasped and turned to leave, suddenly ashamed at her intrusion, the private moment she had witnessed without invitation. Upon retreat, Gertrude Lade caught a glimpse of Della's loving smile and heard her contented purr of a whisper, "Good morning, Chief."

"Time to get up, Miss Street," Perry Mason returned under his breath, the rest of their conversation reduced to looks and smiles gone unnoticed by their receptionist who had already reached her desk to devour the latest edition of True Romance.

* * *

"What does the lady want to have for breakfast," Perry Mason's voice sounded tenderly through the closed bathroom door.

"Coffee and juice. Then toast, bacon and eggs," Della exclaimed happily from the inside.

"Anything else," the attorney chuckled. "Pancakes maybe, French toast and maple syrup for the lady?"

"You forgot to feed me last night," his secretary protested. "I'm hungry."

"You fell asleep in the middle of dictation," Perry pretended to groan. "What was I to do, carry you to Clay's?"

"I fell asleep because you neglected your primary duty to keep me fed," Della Street argued. "I told you I've been losing weight, you promised to provide food so I would fit into my clothes again."

"Oh, you fit into your clothes all right," Perry teased her. "In all the right places."

"And wouldn't you know it," Della peeked her head through the door with a flirty smile. "Speaking of which, I need to change into a fresh suit. Would you mind handing me one from your closet?"

Giving her a seductive little grin, he nodded while Della tried to dispose of yesterday's outfit in the bathroom, "I'd be delighted."

"Be delighted all you want, I cannot change in this bathroom of yours. I tried before, I'm failing again." Hitting her elbow on the door frame, once, then twice, Della released a frustrated moan. "I need to change in front of your closet mirror, so keep your eyes closed, Chief. I'm not decent."

Covering his eyes with one of his hands, Perry complied with her wish but couldn't wipe the persistent smile off his face. "And how am I supposed to find the right outfit for you with my eyes closed, Miss Street?"

"Nevermind," his secretary laughed quietly. "I'll pick one myself. But make sure Gertie doesn't walk in on us, or Paul. I really wouldn't know how to explain standing here half exposed."

"Gladly, but that job also requires me to open my eyes," Perry reasoned, peering through the tiny gaps between his fingers. "How else am I supposed to protect your reputation?"

"By turning your back to me, Chief," Della laughed and shook her head at the fun he was having at her expense. "I really wonder how I keep ending up in your closet all the time."

"Well, maybe it's time for you to come out," the attorney was full of mischief. "I asked you before, I will ask you again." His voice was dangerously beguiling.

"Don't say it," the secretary stopped him with a gentle smile. "I may not be able to turn you down again."


	4. Chapter 4 - Frank Faulkner

Whenever Frank Faulkner entered Perry Mason's office, his stomach was acting up. Although it had been a while since (in the eyes of his employer's most important client) he'd last screwed up, he still felt uneasy when he had to deliver a report to Mr. Mason directly. As one of Paul Drake's key operatives, he preferred reporting to his boss, not his boss' chief provider. In his eyes, the attorney was everything the press suggested: intimidating in court as well as in person. Being friends with him was the last thing Faulkner could imagine. How his boss managed it, he didn't know. Although he had a hunch Miss Street had something to do with it, her demeanor a direct contrast to Mr. Mason's, her beauty and poise. Faulkner sincerely hoped Miss Street was awaiting his report now, not her employer. Miss Della Street in one of her fashionable outfits, always modest but suggestive enough. Her welcoming smile…

Faulkner sighed. Unlike his boss he knew he did not stand a chance with Mr. Mason's lovely secretary, that her smile was genuine but inaccessible. That no matter how hard she tried to cover it up, her heart belonged to a certain lawyer only she knew how to bring to heel. And if she ever failed, Faulkner didn't care to be around. What he had seen in court, every once in a while, sure was enough. The bluster and obstinacy Perry Mason used to get convictions, the defiance behind his actions. The practiced arrogance when needed - such a different man though around Miss Street, such a different attitude towards her than most other people. Around her he always seemed gentle, effortless and naturally at ease.

As he entered Perry Mason's office now, Frank Faulkner was welcomed by Gertrude Lade's chirping voice. The receptionist was sitting behind her desk, vividly engaged in a conversation about a recent beau, movie star or the latest issue of True Romance. He couldn't really tell the difference. Her fingers twirled and twisted the cord that connected her receiver with the phone while her left hand emptied a box of chocolate candy into her mouth with practiced ease. Faulkner stood for a moment, then received a signal from Gertie to go right ahead. Mr. Mason was waiting for him in his office. The receptionist did not interrupt her routine for a second and merely pointed him in the right direction with fingers painted a lush bright pink matching her scarf and lipstick. Faulkner was gutted. No flirt with Gertie, no Della Street to pick him up. At least he had to pass through Miss Street's office, he soothed himself one second only to be disappointed the next. The secretary's walk-through office was empty, her typewriter deserted but the door to the lawyer's private office wide open. Faulkner hesitated. Should he go in without having been announced?

"Miss Street likes to keep an air of formality at the office," Mr. Mason had once growled at him late at night after he had rushed past her with news of vital importance – or what he had thought to be essential information at the time. Little had he known about the pace the famous lawyer liked to keep or about his secretary always hovering in close proximity. A rookie then, he had been unaware of events coming thick and fast in Perry Mason's practice, keeping the lawyer on his toes along with his staff, the police in hot pursuit of their clients at all times, day and night.

The case Paul Drake had put him on now was certainly no different, the news he had to deliver rather unpleasant. So Faulkner took a deep breath and quietly approached the door that separated Miss Street's fragrant workplace from Mr. Mason's daunting office. As he peeked inside, he spotted Perry Mason sitting on the couch, studying a case file with fierce eyes. His secretary was busy skimming through books and files she grabbed from nearby shelves and drawers, books she had trouble navigating before they crashed on her boss' large desk. Despite the noise, Perry Mason did not flinch. He was oblivious to the sound his secretary was trying hard to avoid. One book after another Della Street was fighting with, never considering to ask the lawyer for assistance or averting her eyes from her task at hand for more than a split second, soaking up as much information as she was able to take in from the books piling up around her, flipped open and strewn with colorful notes in her own elegant hand. From behind Mason's desk, Miss Street looked like a lawyer herself, her body language different from her employer's but strangely similar nonetheless. She looked at home in the attorney's chair, her smile lovely the moment Perry Mason addressed her from across the room.

"Did you find anything," his voice strained but gruffly calm the second his eyes met hers.

"I don't think so, Chief," Della Street hesitated. "Although this passage here may help us. Why don't you have a look?" Getting up from behind the desk, she crossed the room on elegant feet, then handed Perry Mason the law book she balanced in her arms, careful not to misalign the notes she had been taking. Waiting for him to grace her with a response, Miss Street stepped out of her heels and lowered herself onto the couch, her legs buried under her svelte form, then completely covered by an abundant skirt, a lacy petticoat protruding from underneath.

"Well done, Miss Street," Perry Mason suddenly raved, his eyes glistening with joy and something Frank Faulkner couldn't quite place. "Faulkner, there you are," the attorney spotted him by the door. "What gives?" The gleam had completely vanished from the lawyer's face.

"I found the witness you've been looking for," Faulkner stepped into the office, took off his hat and nodded a friendly hello to a smiling Della Street. Her smile was warm as usual, her eyes gleaming like Perry Mason's had mere seconds ago. "He's dead." Her smile faded, her hand immediately found Mr. Mason's in a swift, soothing caress. Had he blinked just then, Faulkner would have missed it, a gesture so familiar the secretary didn't even think to hide it. But Frank Faulkner, the vigilant observer, made a mental note to never come to Perry Mason's office unannounced again. The intimacy of the gesture suggested more to him than he wished to get into.

* * *

"Della," Perry Mason searched his office.

No answer for the attorney. No Della Street. Not on the couch, nor behind his desk. Her typewriter deserted. The office empty without her in it but filled with a breeze of fresh air instead. **  
**

Eyes closed, her body swaying slightly in the wind, Della Street stood on the balcony of Perry Mason's office. Lost in thoughts, she rubbed her neck tense from hitting the books all day and taking notes, from getting a glimpse of the process of her boss' thinking, his method, his work. Not that she had been ignorant of his workload before, but after spending a day at his desk, her admiration for him had only grown.

Enchanted by the breath of air tickling her face, she quietly sang to herself, not unaware of the man approaching her swiftly from behind. "There you are," his voice embraced her. "Are you ready to call it a night?"

Shaking her head, Della welcomed his arms pulling her close, his chest now heaving against her back, his hands touching her forearms in a tender caress.

"Aren't you cold," Perry Mason brushed his lips against her ear, his voice as low as a whisper.

"Not anymore," Della hummed and opened her eyes. Standing entangled with him for a while, the secretary listened to the traffic going by in the streets, the honking cars and the sound of a ringing phone left unanswered in a nearby office. "It's such a beautiful night," she suddenly said, unwilling to leave the warmth of his embrace. "Let's just enjoy it for a while."

Adapting to the rhythm of her hips moving to an unsung melody, Perry smiled. "Do I know the song that's playing in your mind?"

"You should," Della whispered and eased deeper into his arms. "You placed it there the other night."

His eyes darkened now, his smile completely vanished, Perry brushed his lips against her hair, then nuzzled her tender neck. "A simple dinner and some dancing and you're bewitched for days?

"It's the company I keep." Della turned around in his embrace, her eyes gleaming with affection. "Not the music or the food." Her lips met his, tentative at first, then unrestrained.

"Let me take you home, darling," Perry mumbled as he gasped for air.

"Later," Della answered simply, her mouth finding his for another dance.


	5. Chapter 5 - Mae Kirby

Mae Kirby remembered the first time she had walked into Perry Mason's office. Her impression then overshadowed by a looming legal issue the famous lawyer had offered to fix for her at no expense. At first, she had refused to accept the favor, to rely on her niece's good word and her employer's charitable mood - until she had begun to understand that the broad-shouldered thunderstorm of a man had had no ulterior motive other than the satisfaction of his secretary. Despite his stubbornness and rough demeanor, he had that one weakness: he was unable to say no to Della Street, no matter how often he tried. But to his advantage, Della rarely used it in her favor but rather tried to help people she felt for or loved. For that, Perry Mason respected her, or how Mae liked to see it, spoiled her with affection, something her niece disliked to admit, even to her. But to Mae Kirby's expert eye, it was obvious: the way he looked at her niece, brushed his fingers against her back, her arms. The way he treated her: not as a subordinate but as a partner, someone he trusted with his business, his life. Someone he may have married but would never ask. Not in this day and age, not in this lifetime.

Mae Kirby sighed. Coming to Perry's office now felt strange, after all, she was not in distress. She had taken her car to Los Angeles to see her niece, plain and simple. Something in her gut had told her she may be in need, that something was going on behind her back. Something Della would not talk about unless asked directly. Something Mae was afraid to hear but couldn't picture. "No," she shook her head. "Not Della." Della wouldn't risk her job for a swift affair nor jeopardize a business that allowed her to make a living beyond a secretary's usual means. Mae knew the gossip columns of course. Heard it from her neighbors, her wanna-be friends. She was used to the questions now: "How is he, that Mr. Mason? Isn't your niece working with him?" The questions were superficial like that, the insinuations everything but vague. "Didn't you see the photograph they printed in the latest issue of Spicy Bits? Well, my daughter slaves as a secretary, too, but her boss would never take her to dinner, especially in that kind of dress. Did you see it? Bare shoulders and black lace. I wouldn't be surprised if her job required more than just phone calls and dictation."

Mae had outgrown the desire to address their ignorance and answered with a mere smile instead. "The dress looked gorgeous, don't you think? A friend of Della's made it, she's a designer. Also works for a film studio, I always forget which one, but it's big. Perry Mason defended her in a murder case, last year I think it was. I'm sure you would remember, you're so much better with names. The papers covered the case to no end." Usually, Mae Kirby wasn't someone who liked to brag but in her eyes, incorrigible tattletales didn't deserve any better but to be hoist with their own petard. So whenever given the opportunity, she took her chance and gilded Della's social life without going to extremes. She knew her niece would not approve of that.

As she entered the reception area now, she was greeted by the friendly voice of Gertrude Lade who saw her through to Della's office without further ado, then knocked on the door that led to Perry Mason's private office.

"Is something wrong with the switchboard, Gertie," Della Street opened the door with a worried tone in her voice.

"Oh no, Miss Street," the receptionist chirped. "I just thought I better announce your visitor in person."

Looking puzzled for an instant, Della looked behind Gertie and broke into a smile at the sight of Mae Kirby. "Aunt Mae," she cheered and welcomed her with a gushy hug. "What are you doing here? Is everything all right?"

"Everything's hunky-dory, my dear," Mae laughed. "I just felt like taking a trip to town and brushing up on the latest fashion and news."

"Oh no," Della rolled her eyes, then nodded a heartfelt thank you towards Gertie and ushered her aunt into Perry's office. "What is it this time? What did you hear?"

"Oh, forget about the idle talk, dear," Mae Kirby shrugged her off. "I'm hear to see you and find out what's going on in your life." Scanning the room with critical eyes, Mae clicked her lips and gave Della a concerned little smile. "I see you have a couch now. How nice."

"Your niece insisted on getting one for our clients," Perry Mason's voice was fast approaching her from the far end of the room.

"It gives the room a more comfortable appearance," Della added, exchanging a look with Perry that didn't go unnoticed.

"And comfortable it should be - for your clients," Mae added with an awkward pause, her eyes taking in the rest of the office like a trained custodian: the laywer's desk strewn with books and papers, Della's cardigan hanging over the chair right next to his, new artwork embellishing the room, a vase filled with beautiful fresh flowers, the round table by the window set for a late breakfast - a coffee pot, two cups, two plates half-filled with bacon, eggs and fruit - and the couch in all its glory, inviting assumptions Mae didn't want to have but couldn't help. The way it stood there in the corner, fitting in. A plant right next to it. Had she spotted a stocking underneath, Mae wouldn't have flinched. The setup was to perfect to be ignored, not even Della would be able to convince her she hadn't at least entertained the thought.

* * *

"We might as well tell her," Perry Mason took Della's coat and put it on a hanger in the closet right next to his. "She knows."

"She didn't mention anything," the secretary tried to lie to herself but failed. "Oh, don't say it," she chuckled at his eyebrows arching up. "I know, she said it all between the lines. But as long as we don't..."

"...confirm her suspicions, she won't judge," Perry smiled and pulled her close against his chest. "Do you really think she'd be surprised? The Mae I got to know seems to have quite an open mind about love."

"Love," Della whispered, her cheeks blushed, her eyes shy when she melted them with his. "Is that what this is?"

"U-hm," Perry hummed against her lips, teasing her for a tender kiss. "I thought you knew."

"A lawyer of my acquaintance taught me never to assume...," Della flirted with him, then locked her lips with his for endless minutes.

"Sounds like a guy I'd like to meet," Perry grinned as she broke away to catch her breath.

"I'm not sure you'd like him," she looked at him with a straight face, fighting to suppress the smile that threatened to cross her face. "He's rather smug at times."


	6. Chapter 6 - Arthur Tragg

Arthur Tragg checked his watch. It was pushing 9pm. Too late to call on most lawyers of his acquaintance but never too late to call on Perry Mason. Over the years, Tragg had gotten a kick out of walking into the attorney's office at all times, night and day. Whenever they were working on the same case, he volunteered to deliver subpoenas, arrest a suspect or confiscate evidence the famous attorney had often collected under shady circumstances. It was always a sure bet that Mason was pushing the boundaries of the law and sticking his neck out for a client no matter how early in the day it was or how late. Paul Drake was always running the investigation, Della Street providing him with notes and food and something the lieutenant didn't quite care to discuss. At the police department, rumor had it that Miss Street was much more than only Mr. Mason's secretary, that she was not as proper as she came across, that her relationship with her employer was hands-on rather than innocent. Arthur Tragg secretly agreed but inhibited the prevalence of gossip such as this. After all, his men didn't have proof, nor did their colleagues at the district attorney's office and it wasn't their job to stick their noses into Perry Mason's private business.

Entering the attorney's office now, Lieutenant Tragg was not surprised to find the reception area deserted. Of all the reliable people working at Mason's office, Gertrude Lade sure was the most punctual one, always working from 9 to 5. Not five minutes early, nor five minutes late - Gertie could only be found at her desk at her assigned hours with rare exceptions. Actually, Tragg only remembered one instance when the receptionist had been at her desk after 5 o'clock, during the hazardous weeks of Della Street's absence, when the secretary had been out of town to take care of a sick aunt or parent. Never had Arthur Tragg seen Gertrude Lade more distressed as she had tried to juggle Della's job and a cranky Perry Mason on top of a tumultuous case. "How Miss Street does it, I don't know," the receptionist had bemoaned her hardship to the lieutenant in a weak moment and sunken into a chair to emphasize the sentiment. Tragg smiled to himself. Had he found Gertie at the office now, he had been alarmed. Finding her desk tidy, however, calmed him down. Everything was moving along as usual. Perry Mason had been retained by a client who looked guilty for the DA. After weighing the facts, Tragg leaned towards Burger and his theory but in the end, as experience taught him, the suspect had probably just been framed. Maybe, the lieutenant mused, it would be wise to present Mason with witnesses and facts before they went to court. It could save them all a lot of time and expenses. Arthur Tragg grumbled to himself. For a second there, he was tempted to put his idea into action. But as they often do, ideas prove to be of a fleeting nature, they come and go. So while entertaining the concept of employing Perry Mason as an extension to the police department, another thought crossed his mind and thus erased his original idea. Passing through the outer office, something had caught Tragg's attention causing him to stop short.

The chair behind Della's desk was empty, no coat on her hat stand, no purse or briefcase. He wrinkled his forehead and hesitated to continue on to Perry Mason's private office. When he reached the doorway after all, Lieutenant Tragg raised his fingers to knock but stopped mid-air. Through the open door, his eyes took in a scene he had witnessed more than a hundred times and yet it seemed conspicuous to him like never before. Behind his desk sat Perry, his eyes deeply buried in a case file. His tie was hanging loose around his neck, his shirt was buttoned down far enough to expose the hair on his chest. By his side stood Della Street, clad in a wiggle skirt and bow tie blouse, her eyes fixed on the same file. Leaning into her employer, the secretary's hand moved up and down his neck, releasing the tension in his muscles, then over his shoulders in an obvious caress. When Perry turned a page, Della stopped, her arm embracing him for a while. As soon as his shoulders moved ever so slightly, she continued her caress, her hand reaching up high into his hair, then down into the collar of his shirt. Perry groaned quietly but Della's face was calm, her lips wearing the trace of a contented smile that suggested she enjoyed the service she was providing. At the same time, the attorney's face was gruff, discontented with the file before him, with a case Tragg would now further complicate. Nothing in Mason's demeanor suggested he was distracted by his secretary's expert hands. When the phone suddenly rang, however, Perry was fast to grab her arm before she could slip away from him, then reached over the desk to accept the call himself. Easing back into position, Della indulged in their embrace, her smile broader now and quietly seductive. Tragg swallowed hard. He had seen that expression on her face before, that trace of demure satisfaction paired with a sin he was now convinced she had committed over and over again. What his men wouldn't give for proof like this, for a glimpse into the secret lives of Perry Mason and Della Street. But he wouldn't give it away, the proof he was now sure to have, the picture of Della's smile, the glow on her face. He would lock it away with all the other memories of Della Street's lovely face.

* * *

"I think there's someone at the door, Chief," Della said, her voice hushed up.

Looking up from the phone, Perry Mason nudged his head towards her office, telling her to go see who it was. Following his instructions, the secretary walked around his desk, then passed her own only to find the reception area deserted and the doors all closed. "Is someone there," Della asked, not unafraid. But there was no answer, no visitor there to present himself.

"Who is it," Perry's voice approached her from behind.

"I don't know," Della shrugged and shivered slightly.

"Lock the door," the lawyer instructed, then checked the other rooms for invisible intruders. "All clear," he finally announced, then wrapped her in his arms to keep her warm. "It's all right, Della. There's no one here but us."

"But I heard something, Perry," the secretary assured him, still trembling inside. "I'm positive."

"I know you are," Perry Mason whispered onto her hair. "But whoever it was, he's not here now."

Wrapping her arms around his frame, Della hid away in his embrace. "Some kind of a secretary I am," she chided herself. "Alerting you for nothing."

"I wouldn't say that," Perry suddenly growled, then pulled away from her enough to stride to Gertie's desk. "What's this?"

"Looks like a letter," his secretary followed him, her arms still seeking his embrace.

"Looks like a police report to me," the attorney mumbled and broke away from her for good. "Was this here before?"

Della shook her head, then gasped. "Do you think...," she started, but was interrupted by his courtroom voice. "Let's go, Della," the attorney shouted and grabbed her elbow. Pulling her along with him, she nearly tripped but was quick on her feet again out of habit.

"Aren't we going to call Paul," Della asked as Perry wrapped her coat around her shoulders, then grabbed his own and rushed out the back door of his office with her in close pursuit.

"Nevermind Paul, he's a detective," Perry Mason mumbled and gently shoved her towards the service elevator. "He'll find us."

Entering the elevator, Della wondered, "What about the messenger who left the report for us?"

Still holding her elbow, Perry moved his thumb over the crook of her arm in a soft caress. "Let's not worry about him, shall we? If he has something else to share, I'm sure he'll come calling again."

"Aren't you curious who it was," Della Street tilted her head to meet his gaze and found nothing but a roguish gleam in his eyes.

"Are you worried about the identity of our messenger or about the possibility that someone saw us cuddling up over a case?" Lifting her chin with his index finger, Perry Mason gave her one of his dimple smiles, then brought his lips to hers for a tender buss. "I suggest we lock the front door from now on. That will keep unwanted visitors away."

"But what if someone is in need and we're still in, mulling over a case," the secretary asked under her breath, her eyes closed from the softness of his kiss.

"Now what are your priorities, Miss Street," Perry grinned, then locked her lips with his until they reached the basement.


	7. Chapter 7 - Hamilton Burger

Hamilton Burger dreaded having to call on Perry Mason in his office, his turf. The surroundings so comfortable and private, it made him feel uneasy somehow and strangely out of place. His own office was another story. He liked to keep it simple, down-to-earth. Not so Perry Mason, his most famous opponent, a lawyer breathing the law and leading a life according to his own rules. It all showed in his office: his art eclectic, the furniture modern, his secretary one of a kind - beautiful, able and always by his side.

In the beginning, Hamilton had been irritated by her presence: her demeanor quiet, her smile genuine, her ears alert. But over the years, he had learned to appreciate her, although he knew she sometimes loathed him for attacking Perry in court. Seeing resentment washing over her face amused him these days. He knew she wasn't vengeful, wasn't inclined to hold a grudge. But every once in a while she got cross with him for more than five minutes and only graced him with a polite little smile to humor her boss. Perry, although disagreeing with him on almost every case, was not so easily swayed by personal feelings, although the DA knew he shouldn't push his luck. On the few occasions he had put Della Street on the stand to testify for the state, Perry's courtroom tactics had been especially belligerent and imaginative. That's when Burger had realized the attorney-at-law would go at great lengths to protect his secretary, no matter what else was at stake - not even Paul Drake could expect similar treatment. He had decided then, to keep that inside knowledge to himself. One day he may be able to pin Perry Mason down by going after his weak point, but he had to find a way to outwit her first because unfortunately, Perry's Archilles heel was also his fountain of strength.

Arriving at Perry Mason's office now, he entered the premises with a light heart free from resentment. The case he was working on was a sure win for the prosecution. After years of fighting Perry in court, Burger was careful not to jinx it though, and tried not to appear over-confident. Rushing through the reception area and outer office, the DA held his smile and swallowed his schadenfreude. But one thing was clear: the news he had to deliver would put a damper on Perry Mason and his client.

As he reached the doorway leading to Perry's office, Hamilton paused for a moment and peeked around the corner to see if the office was occupied or deserted. On the couch he found Perry Mason, his back turned to the door, his face buried in a file, books and notes spread out around him on the floor. Crouching before him was Della Street, her hands sifting through the papers, trying to bring order into a chaos that reminded the DA of his law school days. Watching them for a while, Hamilton Burger was impressed by the diligence the secretary proved to have and the efficiency of a conversation Della Street was having with her employer without uttering a single word.

Clearing his throat to announce his presence, Hamilton Burger watched how Miss Street reached for Perry's knee to help herself up. Taking her elbow to lend her a hand, Perry Mason seemed unaware of the chivalry of his gesture. His hand stroking her arm as she struggled to get up, her legs probably asleep from hunkering down too long, the lawyer shot up from the couch the moment he realized she wasn't steady enough on her feet, then moved her arm around his neck, his own around her waist to get her circulation going again. Caught off guard by the familiarity he got to witness, the DA stood speechless for a while. "Don't mind me,"Della Street finally chuckled.

"What can we do for you at this hour, Hamilton,"the attorney added, in tune with her smile. Her lack of inhibition, Perry's concern with her discomfort. Her body fitting his. It all made sense to Burger now: their dedication, their intimacy. Their secret vows. He didn't need to see a ring to know it was true, but he made a promise to himself to not give them away.

* * *

"You are exhauster, Chief," Della caressed his face with her eyes, his lines deeper now than usual, his eyes clouded and restless, his body bent after sitting on the couch for hours without interruption. "Let's go home."

"You go home, Della," Perry encouraged her with a tired smile. "Take my car. I'd rather stay and try to crack this case."

"You need some rest," Della reasoned, her eyes glistening with concern.

"I won't sleep anyway," he cut her off. "Not until I've figured it out: the motive, the setup - it doesn't make sense."

"Fine," his secretary responded quietly, her arms crossed now to emphasize her point. "If you stay, I stay."

"Where would you sleep," the attorney yawned. "The couch is taken."

"Oh, there's plenty of room. I can squeeze myself in," Della insisted, then slid off her shoes and sat down right next to him. "Don't think I cannot make myself fit," she smiled at him with a feisty gleam in her eyes. "There, you see?" Covering his hand with hers in a soft caress, she continued, "Don't try to chase me away, counselor. I'm not leaving unless you are and you know I mean it."

Surprised by the lack of backfire from his side, Della locked her eyes with his and gasped at the intensity of his wordless response. Perry Mason sat next to her on the couch, his eyes clearing up from worry, his body unusually tense. Taking her hand into his, Perry pulled her close until their lips were mere inches apart, her body touching his. Boring his eyes into hers, Perry did not leave her any air to breathe. The way he looked at her shot right into her, piercing her heart, her soul in a way she had never experienced before. His hand possessive now, he forced her to follow his lead and climb on top of him. Had he asked her, she would have stopped. Had he kissed her in his usual manner, his lips softly caressing hers, she would have willed herself away. But on that couch, Della watched herself in slow motion, felt her body respond to Perry's in a way she couldn't control. When her thighs touched his, his hand let go of hers and moved to her waist instead. Caressing it, he smiled, his eyes raw somehow and primal, his expression serious but vulnerable. When his mouth claimed hers, Della moaned and moved along as he lay down, pulling her with him like a blanket, unwilling to let her go for more than a second. Bewitched by his touch, his mouth, his quiet groan, Della consented to swopping positions, then lost herself in the feeling of his body covering hers, his weight pushing her down into the cushions without crushing her completely.

"Don't stop," Della gasped when Perry suddenly pulled away, a breeze of cold air taking his place.

"This isn't the time," Perry had trouble catching his breath, his heart was pounding loudly in his chest. "Nor the place." He pulled himself up, his eyes reflecting regret and lust. "I won't wolf you down to get a break from a difficult case," his eyes soothed her now. "Do get some rest, darling. I will get you a blanket," he added, then disappeared around the corner where he took a deep, painful breath, his body aching for her, weakening his knees.

On the couch, Della shivered, unable to prop herself up. Her mind was still processing the desire he had instilled in her, then deprived her of moments later. She wasn't cross with him, but still confused. Her hands were shaking, her lips trembling from emotions she couldn't identify as good or bad. "Do you want me to leave," Della croaked when he finally returned, his face flushed, his hands careful not to caress her as the blanket found a way around her shoulders replacing his touch.

"Please don't go," Perry begged her, his eyes restless but warm. His body still keeping its distance.

Giving him a loving smile, Della complied. "Then run the facts by me again," she tried to break the uneasiness between them. "What is it we are not seeing?"

Hesitating for a moment, Perry Mason accepted her offer with a grateful smile. Grabbing the case file, the attorney broke down the case for her in little pieces, sorting his thoughts as his words lashed down on her. Pacing the room while she asked her questions, Perry calmed down the deeper he plunged into inconsistencies of the case until he was calm enough to sit on the couch with her again. Seeking permission, Della offered to share her blanket and snuggled up with him underneath. His arm gently tugged around her shoulder, her head leaning against his, she closed her eyes and finally met his level of comfort again. Listening to the sound of his voice, she fell asleep enveloped by his warmth, his scent. The caress of his thumb on her shoulder, helping him think, brought back a smile to her lips, matching his.


	8. Chapter 8 - Paul Drake

When Paul Drake entered Perry Mason's office, he was hung over from sleep deprivation after a long night. The suspect Perry had asked him to watch had turned out to be a no-show, something the otherwise smart detective had figured out when it had already been too late. If he had been in the mood to admit to his mistakes, Paul may have agreed to taking too much of a liking to blond bombshells lately, that his preference for the ladies had become a weakness that interfered with his work. But Paul was not in a reflective mood at all. He was rather tight-lipped about the entire affair and didn't even wish to report to Perry about it. Why he showed up at Perry's office anyway, the detective didn't quite know. At some point it had just become a habit for him to return to his friend's office first. Partly because Della always had a cup of coffee for him so early in the morning and then there was the couch. Paul loved to slouch on the piece of furniture before clients came barging into Perry Mason's practice. The couch was roomy and comfortable, big enough for him to close his eyes for an hour after briefing his friends and having their leftover breakfast. What Paul also craved on this particular morning was one of Della's radiant smiles. The kind of smile that made him feel at ease in an instant. The kind of smile that brought him home again after sitting in his car all night, after having been brushed off by another fleeting acquaintance. Hadn't his mind been so preoccupied with his most recent blond experience, had he not allowed to be so out of touch with his sleuthing skills, he may have reconsidered and gone to his own office first. After all, a bad night usually resulted in a dismal morning. But before his instincts could stop him, before he realized that it was unusual for Perry Mason to keep his back door unlocked, Paul Drake had already entered the lawyer's office and halted his breath at the scene displayed to him without invitation.

On the couch lay Perry Mason, his body turned to the side, his back facing the room with Paul standing in it. The attorney's shoes were lying on the floor, a pair of women's heels right next to them, toppled over. Perry's shirt was untucked, his trousers creased, his legs entangled with a pair of female legs. Her legs were bare and shapely, her feet naturally bent, her toes painted a deep crimson red. An elegant arm reached lazily around Perry's waist, the rest of the woman's body was hidden from Paul's view and completely swallowed by her lover's large frame.

Paul blinked and tried his best to avert his eyes but failed the second Perry moved to reveal his overnight partner in sin. Rolling on top of her in one swift move, the attorney entwined his body with the woman below him, his form fitting hers like a glove. A graceful hand buried in Perry's hair now, moving south to his neck and into his collar, then up again. Her own hair tousled against the sofa cushion, smoothing the features of a face so well-known to the detective-gone-intruder: Della Street, Perry's reputable secretary.

Della's beauty hit Paul hard as a mere bystander. The glow on her face, her eyes closed from morning ecstasy and peaceful slumber, her lips cleaned of all traces of lipstick. Her clothes wrinkled and out of place, revealing more to the private eye than deemed appropriate. When Perry pulled his lover into a lengthy kiss, completely covering her like a blanket, Paul finally pumped some air into his lungs again to fight the growing weakness in his knees. He didn't know when he had stopped breathing and what hurt more, his sharp intake of breath or the ardent buss he could not stop observing, the little sounds Della made or Perry's expert hands triggering them.

It wasn't so much envy that threw him off balance, nor surprise that had crippled his breath but the intimacy he witnessed, the apparent love he had always suspected but never gotten confirmed. Much like Perry, Della didn't believe in public displays of affection, a fact that had left the people around them guessing about the true nature of their feelings. After all, the famous attorney was a charmer and his secretary known for doting on everyone she cared for, including Paul Drake, her brother-in-name. Another thing this kiss now confirmed for the detective. Watching it continue left the private eye breathless again. No woman had ever allowed him to lock lips with her so endlessly, had ever made him understand the joys of anticipation, of holding off on the pleasures of lovemaking. And clearly, making love was up next for them, although Paul was convinced they had already taken that step in their relationship. He couldn't understand why he hadn't seen it before. It was all so obvious now, the little signs of familiarity beyond those of a lawyer and his head of office. His hand resting on the small of her back, her fingers massaging his neck. The way she sat next to him behind his desk, their little inside jokes, her eyes always seeking his. Their weekday lunches, dinners, breakfast. The couch such a dead giveaway_. _Paul shook his head. Some kind of a detective he was, missing out on all the telltale signs of a perfect romance. _  
_

* * *

"Your lips taste like jelly," he hummed, his mouth still glued to hers, unwilling to stop spoiling her luscious lips.

Della chuckled and rolled her eyes at him the millisecond he gave her time to breathe. "We just had breakfast."

"You just had breakfast," Perry corrected her, his arms tucked around her waist to keep her close sitting on his lap. "I had coffee."

"I offered to share my toast," his secretary tried to protest but failed. His dimple smile, those mischievous eyes – she knew they would be get caught if she kept teasing him.

"I don't like toast and jelly," the attorney said and made his case by kissing her again. "Only on you. On you it tastes divine."

"You're in some mood today, chief," Della gasped and moved one of her arms around his neck to bury her fingers in his hair.

"Wouldn't you know, I didn't sleep a wink all night," Perry grinned.

"Now counselor," his girl Friday protested. "It's not my fault you decided to work late last night."

"Not that I got to work much after you snuggled up with me on the couch," he whispered and tightened his embrace around her tiny waist.

"I didn't know you'd mind," Della Street said in a husky sweet voice. "After all, I told you, I just wanted to close my eyes..."

"For a little while," the attorney nodded and kissed her again. "I know."

"It's not my fault that you didn't wake me when I fell asleep," Della smiled against his lips.

"There was no need to wake you, darling," Perry Mason said under his breath. "I had you right where you belonged."

"Hmmm," Della hummed. "I had no idea you could be so charming in the morning."

"It's your good influence, darling," Perry grinned. "And that jelly in those soft little groove marks on your lips."

"So it's the sugar that's bewitching you," his head of office reasoned.

"It wasn't the sugar that kept me awake all night," the attorney replied tenderly.

"I was asleep, counselor. What could I possibly have done to interfere with your sleep?" Della asked softly and rested her head on his chest while her skin soaked up the feeling of his fingers caressing it.

"You really have no idea what holding you means to me, do you," Perry asked, knowing she was teasing him.

"Are you sorry you asked Paul to come in to report on the case this morning," Della Street returned his question with a quiet smirk.

"I'm just sorry I asked him to come in so early because right now I could do without an expected chaperone." His smile was small and honest, his hands more starved with each second she stayed in his arms. "Just imagine, Della," he suddenly started, his chin now resting on top of her head, his fingertips dangerously close to sullying their reputation. "Imagine how it could be if we were married."

"It wouldn't be like this, Perry," Della whispered. "Not for long."

"You'd be surprised to know how much I love you, Del," the attorney returned, his voice so vulnerable it scarred her heart.

"I love you, too." Her voice was breaking when she finally said it and his arms pulled her closer in response.

"Then think about it," he pleaded. "I cannot last another night just holding you and sleeping alone is not an option anymore."

It was the familiar sound of Paul's harrumphing that stopped Della from busting Perry's hopes, the comfortable feeling of his arms still holding her, unwilling to let her go.

"Do you need a minute?" The detective asked with a smirk, his eyes showing concern where his voice lacked it.

"Actually," Perry Mason answered truthfully. "We do."

Shooting his friend a bewildered look, the P.I. stood for a moment, then nodded and turned around to head towards the kitchen. "All right," he mumbled, still half puzzled but also amused. "But I won't be long, so the doll better be decent when I come back."

Della chuckled.

"I'm not going to explain to Mae how her niece ended up in distress, pal."

"Your concern is duly noted," Della shouted after him in a soft voice. "But there is no need."

"From where I am standing, Beautiful," Paul returned honestly. "There's a whole lot to be concerned about when I see you two canoodling like that. The way he looks at you, he is hoping for the stork to pay you a visit soon."

**The End**


End file.
